


A Ring Made From a Spoon

by Mugatu



Series: Fables of the Reconstruction [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, please forgive the sappiness, the one where they get married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mugatu/pseuds/Mugatu
Summary: No matter what Paul likes to tell people later Daryl does not decide to marry him just because he hates calling Paul his “boyfriend.” It’s only what gets him thinking about it.





	A Ring Made From a Spoon

No matter what Paul likes to tell people later Daryl does _not_  decide to marry him just because he hates calling Paul his “boyfriend.” It’s only what gets him thinking about it.

Specifically the reaction of that douchebag newcomer at he Kingdom when Carol introduced them using that word.

_Daryl this is Cody. Cody, Daryl. He’s Jesus’ boyfriend._

He’s _Jesus’ boyfriend?_ Cody had answered, looking at Daryl in unflattering disbelief. The only thing that kept Daryl from stomping his ass was the fact that he was Carol’s _guest_ in the Kingdom and her crazy husband and her crazy husband’s crazy fucking _tiger_ “abhorred” violence.

 _I think that look you gave him knocked a few years off the end of his life,_ Carol had said with amusement later.

_I hate that word is all. ‘Boyfriend’. Sounds like we’re in middle school going steady._

_I can start calling him your partner, or significant other, ooh, or_ lover _, how does that sound?_

 _Don’t you fucking dare,_ Daryl had growled.

_Well you could just marry him, then. Or is “husband” as bad “boyfriend”?_

Several days later Daryl is wide awake in bed and her words come back to him. Paul lies next to him, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder, legs tangled with Daryl’s own. They’ve fucked and cleaned up and Paul is asleep or almost there but Daryl’s mind is still whirring away.

_Just marry him, then._

Thing is “husband” _isn’t_ as bad as “boyfriend”; thing is it’s a lot better. Thing is that Daryl actually likes the way it sounds, so much that it’s a little embarrassing. Makes him feel like a twelve year old girl dreaming of her wedding day. He once told Carol that being married in this world means a helluva lot more than it ever did before; making a promise to stick around. No real laws or anything keeping the other one from taking off.

It’s a promise Daryl can keep; he’s going to his grave in love with Paul Rovia no matter how many days or years away that is. Even if Paul dies before Daryl (and he sure fucking hopes not) or falls in love with someone else (again he fucking hopes not, but this is preferable to the other option) he knows in his bones there’s never going to be anyone else.

But he’s not sure if Paul feels the same way. Oh, he knows the other man loves him, he has no doubt about that. Still there is a part of him that can’t quite believe it’s for good, that one day it will sink in that even though his options are limited he can still do better than Daryl Dixon.

“Go to sleep,” Paul mumbles into Daryl’s shoulder, interrupting his thoughts.

“Sorry. Don’t mean to keep you awake. I can move to the living room-“

“Yeah, because an empty bed won’t keep me awake,” Paul says and kisses Daryl’s collar bone sleepily. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin.’ Just thinkin’, is all,” Daryl answers evasively.

“About?”

Daryl doesn’t answer at first, just strokes Paul’s back while he tries to think of something that’s not a lie but won’t upset Paul. He doesn’t like it when Daryl gets down on himself or suggests that he’s not good enough. He settles for, “I’m just being an idiot. There was this bag of dicks at the Kingdom. Looked at me like I was from Mars or something when Carol told him we’s together.”

Paul gives his shoulder a reproachful nip and says, “Stop projecting,” zeroing in instantly on why this bothered Daryl, “He probably was just surprised you were gay. You may not have noticed, dearest, but you don’t exactly fit the stereotypes.”

“Neither do you,” Daryl answers.

“Then he was surprised that _both_ of us are gay. The straights can get very bewildered when confronted with the fact that we still exist. Poor souls.”

Daryl sighs, “I told you I was just bein’ an idiot. But really, would you’ve looked at a guy like me before all this?”

Paul snorts, “Depends. Before all this were you still engaged in your one man crusade against sleeves? If so I would have definitely looked. Would you have looked back, or punched me?”

Daryl can’t come up with an argument to that. He knows the answer. He’s come far enough to know that he would have on some subconscious level realized how much he wanted to fuck Paul at first sight. He also realizes it would have made him want to hit him even more. “I suppose it don’t matter either way.”

“ _Exactly,”_ Paul says and lifts himself up onto his elbow so he can look Daryl in the face, “It doesn’t matter. Honesty Hour: no, we probably wouldn’t be together if we met before. But so what? It would have been my loss. We’re together here and now, that’s all that matters.”

Daryl doesn’t say anything, just leans up enough to kiss Paul’s mouth. The other man scrutinizes his face before settling back down against Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl starts stroking his back again and in few minutes Paul drifts off. Daryl smiles; at this moment an outsider wouldn’t believe that out of the two of them Paul is the one with insomnia issues. But sex is like valium to him sometimes, particularly after being separated for a long week like they had been while Daryl was at the Kingdom.

_We’re together here and now, that’s all that matters._

Daryl disagrees with that. Here and now matters most, but it’s not the only thing. Being together in the future right up until one or both of them is buried in a shallow grave matters a helluva lot to Daryl as well.

So. Marriage. He’s awake for at least an hour after that running that through his mind.

**************

He is still mentally dithering over the idea when he finds the spoon in his vest pocket and his decision is made. It’s a large soup spoon with intricate flowers molded into the handle and Daryl wonders where Paul found it and if it meant anything in particular. Sometimes the things Paul slips into Daryl’s pockets are private jokes and sometimes they are just random shit he finds. Daryl’s considering adding it to their collection of mismatched silverware when it hits him that the spoon is the mellow white color of pure silver. He smacks the bowl of the spoon against his palm thoughtfully then tucks it back into his pocket.

He visits Earl, the blacksmith, a few days later when Paul is out on a run and asks if he wouldn’t mind making Daryl something on the sly.

“I can trade you for it,” Daryl says, “Name your price.”

“Depends on how hard whatever it is you want me to make is,” Earl says.

Daryl hands him the spoon and asks, “Can you make me two rings outta this?”

Earl looks puzzled for a few seconds then gasps out, “ _Daryl._ Do you mean to say—?” For a middle-aged, six and a half foot tall, hirsute man his expression makes him look an awful lot like a thirteen-year-old girl.

Daryl squirms with embarrassment, “Look, if you could do it and keep quiet about it I’d appreciate it.” People in this place gossiped like their lives depended on it and that was the last thing he wanted.

“Done!” Earl says, eyes sparkling, “And there’s no charge.”

Daryl tries to argue but Earl is adamant. He’s so excited he’s vibrating and Daryl agrees just to escape.

Earl pulls him aside a few hours later (he must have started on them as soon as Daryl left him)and with all the subtlety of an exploding elephant passes Daryl a little leather bag containing two perfectly made silver rings. “Good luck!” he whispers loud enough for the folks in Alexandria to hear and walks off. Daryl is able to keep himself from slamming his palm against his face only with a great deal of effort.

*************

The thing is now that he has the rings he’s not sure how to ask if Paul wants to get married. The thought of getting down on one knee and proposing is so mortifying he almost throws the rings out and writes this off as a bad idea. He doesn’t know what to say. Words aren’t his strong suit.

He also isn’t sure _when_ to bring it up. If he should plan something special (again, a thought that makes him twist with embarrassment) or wait for a significant date. Their anniversary has passed, not that they acknowledged it beyond Paul saying, “I think it’s been almost exactly a year since we did this the first time” when he rolled off a sweaty and panting Daryl one night not long ago.

He’s trying to think of where he can hide the rings away from Paul’s sticky fingers when the answer occurs to him, and it’s so obvious he can’t believe he didn’t think of it right away.

**************

The day it happens they’re on a run that starts out normal and ends with them on the roof of an abandoned drugstore several miles away from their car and low on ammo. Surrounding the building is one of the biggest herds they’ve seen in a while, the geeks are crowded up two or three rows deep around the building. Waiting them out isn’t an option; too many had followed them inside and were trying to force their way through the access door and onto the roof.

“Shit!” Daryl says, throwing his weight against the door. Paul stares at him, wide-eyed and pale. He looks over the edge of the roof then back at Daryl. His features harden.

“I’m going to lead the herd away,” Paul says, “When they’re gone you can climb down the outside of the building and head for the cars. I’ll meet you there.”

“We ain’t splitting up,” Daryl says, mind racing and trying to figure out a way to get out of this mess. Behind him the door shudders in its frame and Daryl can hear the moaning of the dead. “Sides, how you gonna get through that mess?”

Paul swallows and says, “I love you, ok?”

“The _fuck_ -“ Daryl starts to say when Paul backs up a few yards then takes a running jump off the roof. Daryl is unable stop himself from crying out and racing after him. When he looks over the edge he sees that Paul’s jump has carried him past the walkers and he’s already on his feet firing shots into the herd. He looks up at Daryl and shouts, “Don’t let them break down the door!”

Daryl hears more banging behind him, the door is bending in its frame and he grabs his crossbow and gets ready. He hears more shots from behind him and Paul shouting, “ _Here! Over here!”_

“ _Oh I am so going to fucking_ kill _you, Paul!”_ Daryl snarls to himself.

By the time the walkers break through the door the herd surrounding the building has been lured away and Daryl is able to climb down the side of the building.

 _I am going to fucking kill you,_ he thinks over and over again as he makes his way back to the car, _You had best not be dead so I can get a chance to do it._

****************

Paul is by the car waiting. When he sees Daryl he runs up to him. Daryl drops his crossbow to the ground just before Paul crashes into him. Daryl throws his arms around him and holds him as tight as he possibly can, fingers clenching into his hair. They stay like that for a long time, both breathing harsh gasps that are close to sobs. It takes awhile for Daryl to get control of himself. When he does he shoves Paul away so hard he almost knocks the other man off his feet. He stalks toward the car, shaking with anger and ignoring Paul calling his name.

He’s fumbling with the door handle when he feels Paul’s hand on his shoulder. He jerks away and whirls around on him, “Do _not,”_ he chokes out, “Pull any shit like that again. _Ever!”_ The last word is a shout.

Paul blinks at him in confusion before his face goes blank. “Daryl. We didn’t have time to discuss a plan.”

“ _Fuck_ that! You coulda least fucking _warned_ me before doing that crazy ninja shit of yours!”

Paul raises his hands placatingly, “You’ve seen me make jumps from higher than that before. I was fine.” Daryl has, he remembers the first time at the Sanctuary being stunned when Paul hit the ground, immediately dropped into a headfirst roll, and sprang up onto his feet unharmed.

This knowledge doesn’t help his temper. Even though it is long over and done his mind insists on showing him all the ways that jump _could_ have gone wrong, and starts rattling them off, “You could’ve misjudged the distance and landed right in the middle of the geeks or could’ve landed wrong and broken a leg or could’ve landed just fine only for your gun to go off when you hit the ground and _shot_ your own dumbass!” Daryl takes in a breath, “And I couldn’t’ve done nothing but _watch_ you get torn to pieces.” 

“Are you all right?” Paul asks quietly after several long minutes.

Daryl stares at him in disbelief, “No I am not fucking all right, Paul!”

“I meant physically,” Paul says, “You’re favoring your leg. You can stay pissed at me, but if you got hurt or anything I’d like to know.”

Daryl looks down; he hadn’t really noticed, “Tripped and scraped my knee. It’s nothing,” he mutters sullenly, “How about you?”

“I’m fine,” Paul says.

Daryl hasn’t forgotten the time Paul had been shot and hadn't realized until much later. His anger fades and he has to inspect Paul for injuries himself. The other man is quiet and still while Daryl does so. When he’s satisfied Paul is unhurt he sighs and says, “Look. I know that we had to move fast, but fuck’s sake, you can’t just take off like that.”

Paul lets out a sigh as well, “I knew I could make that jump and you couldn’t. One of us needed to draw them away,” he swallows, “If I hadn’t done it and those walkers broke through you would have watched me get torn to pieces anyway, since there’s no way in hell I’d leave you.”

Daryl lets out snort that doesn’t have enough humor to be a laugh, “Maybe we shouldn’t do runs together no more.”

“Fuck that, I need to look after you,” Paul says, giving him a shaky smile.

“Me? You’re the one who does all that crazy ninja shit,” he’s smiling a little as well.

“I am a skilled practitioner of the martial arts,” Paul says loftily, then turns serious, “Daryl?”

“Yeah?”

“I was worried about you and would like very much to kiss you now, if you’re ok with that.”

“I ought to strangle you,” Daryl says. Despite his words his voice is affectionate and he leans in close.

Paul smiles, then takes Daryl’s face in his hand and kisses him. He uses a lot of tongue and bites at Daryl’s lips. More than a year into their relationship and Paul can still get him going with just a kiss, it’s not fucking fair. When Paul pulls away Daryl has a semi straining against his zipper and is already well on his way to forgiving Paul anything. “Asshole,” Daryl growls.

Paul gives Daryl’s crotch an affectionate pat, “Don’t worry; I’ll make it up to you when we get back. Let’s go.”

“Fine by me,” Daryl says. He’s about to get into the car when he remembers dropping his crossbow. “I’ll be right back,” he says, gesturing to where it’s laying a few yards away.

He retrieves it and turns back to the car and sees to his surprise Paul hasn’t moved at all from where Daryl left him and he’s staring down into his hands.

“Paul?” Daryl says, walking toward him. When he sees the rings he had made weeks ago on Paul’s open palm he freezes.

Paul looks up slowly, “Are these what I think they are?”

So maybe his idea wasn’t the best after all. “Was wondering if you’d ever get around to snatching ‘em,” Daryl says, “Been in my pocket for weeks. Of course you did it right after a fight.”

Paul doesn’t answer. Daryl shifts uncomfortably, starting to sweat, “Look, I don’t…it’s no pressure. I mean, especially because today was so fucked up, I just…” he swallows, “You’re it for me. If you feel the same then I was just thinkin’…you know.” He scrapes at the dirt with his boot, “It’s ok if you don’t, or aren’t sure—“

“Shut up, Daryl,” Paul says. He doesn’t sound angry. He drops his gaze to the rings on his palm. They aren’t very fancy; just plain silver bands. The only ornamentation is a little sideways eight engraved on the inside of both of them—Earl told him it meant “infinity”.

After a long time that has Daryl sweating and fidgeting nervously Paul looks up and says, “Alright, I take you as my wedded husband and all that. Do you want to do the honors?”

Daryl blinks, “Right here? Now?”

“Do you want a ceremony? Father Gabriel officiating, all of Hilltop and Alexandria looking on?”

“No,” Daryl says, maybe a little too quickly, “I mean, do you?” The thought makes Daryl want to shoot himself but if it will make Paul happy then Daryl will do it.

“Fuck no.”

“Good,” Daryl says with relief. Paul lifts his eyebrows and raises the hand holding the rings up, “Oh right,” Daryl says, and steps forward. Paul’s lips curve into a little smile.

Paul’s wearing his gloves, Daryl tugs the left one off and takes the smaller ring from Paul’s other hand. He holds it for a minute uncertainly. Should he say something? He decides against it, he’s always been better at showing rather than telling Paul how he feels. To that end he slides the ring on Paul’s finger without a word, not even echoing Paul's comment about taking him as a wedded husband. It goes on easily and Daryl’s pleased—he’d measured Paul’s finger with a bit of string while the other man slept one night but he’d still worried about the fit.

When he’s finished he keeps holding Paul’s hand for a bit. He likes the way the ring looks on his finger. Finally Paul tugs his hand free so he can put the second ring on Daryl’s own finger. When he’s done he presses their hands against each other’s, palm to palm. Laces their fingers together. Daryl has to kiss him then; soft and sweet.

When he pulls back Paul has one of his soft little smiles on his face. “Let’s go home,” Paul says.

***************

When they get back to the Hilltop they go straight to their trailer. This is far from the first close call one or both of them has had, and after all previous such occasions they would end up going at each other like animals, desperate to reassure each other that they were alive. The kind of fucking that involved torn clothes and broken furniture and on one memorable occasion a knock on the door from one of their concerned neighbors.

Tonight is different, they’re slow and careful, spending ages just kissing and running their hands over each other; drawing it out as long as possible.

Afterward Daryl is beginning to doze off when he notices that Paul is running his thumb over Daryl’s ring finger.

“What?” he asks sleepily.

“Nothing,” Paul says, “It’s just sinking in.”

“Too late for take backs, and I don't believe in divorce,” Daryl says more flippantly than he feels. This earns him a pinched arm.

“I don’t want to take it back. I’m just surprised you asked, is all. You still play hard to get sometimes.”

“Thank Carol, she suggested it,” Daryl says.

“I knew the threats to turn me into tiger chow were all talk.”

“Don’t get cocky. It was mostly because I said I hate callin’ you my ‘boyfriend.’”

Paul bursts out laughing, “How romantic.”

“Don’t get used to it. Special occasion.”

Paul chuckles and runs his thumb over Daryl’s finger again. “It’ll do.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Hold On" by Tom Waits.


End file.
